


Please Consider: A Concept

by cruelfeline



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelfeline/pseuds/cruelfeline
Summary: A collection of not-quite-stories from my Tumblr, gathered here at follower suggestion and for convenient access. Little snippets of Hordak/Entrapdak/clone-related content with no particular theme in mind. Random concepts, if you will. All absurdly self-indulgent. Updates sporadically.
Relationships: Catra & Hordak (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 185





	1. Bow Considers Ears on Boys Night Out 2

Please consider, a concept:

Hordak has been roped into Boys’ Night Out 2. This is regarded as a questionable move by literally everyone involved (except Entrapta, who senses _data_ ), but it’s happening. 

Because he has the closest connection to the Queen and thus the highest authority, Bow is unofficially considered “in charge” of this debacle. Meaning that _he_ has to keep an eye on Hordak and ensure that nothing goes horribly wrong. 

And… well, it’s not like Sea Hawk or Swift Wind would be appropriate for that task, anyway. 

So: Bow has that responsibility, and he’s a great friend and a good person, so he is going to fulfill his duty, goshdarn it! He is going to make sure that everyone stays safe and has a good time and has a successful outing. Yes. Even Hordak. Bow is going to do it; he is going to Make This Work.

…except that he is _legitimately terrified_ of Hordak. Here is someone who seems to have only one setting: barely-restrained anger. Maybe with a sprinkling of sneering disdain on top. And despite Bow considering himself well-versed in interacting with people, he’s just… entirely at a loss as to what to do with Hordak. He doesn’t know how to talk to him. He doesn’t know what sort of emotional warning signs to look for, since Hordak seems to be a walking warning sign already. He looks either angry or blank the whole time, and Bow just doesn’t know how to engage with that.

So he’s having a bit of an internal crisis, desperately trying to figure out how he’s going to keep the peace between a bird-horse, a shanty machine, and the embodiment of a building thunderstorm, when his datapad pings him with a message. 

It’s from Entrapta. And it’s… a bunch of little emojis? Yup: Hordak-shaped emojis. 

Hm… it’s not the _weirdest_ thing that Entrapta has ever sent him, but what is he supposed to do with… oh! Oh, they have descriptions. And specifically call attention to ear positions.

Entrapta has sent him a (very cute) crash course in how to read Hordak’s facial expressions. Which, Bow is now aware, apparently involves assessing ear position.

Well. It’s a charming chart, to be sure, but it just frustrates Bow more. He can already see that Hordak’s ears are pinned back, matching his fixed scowl in conveying Anger. He doesn’t need an emoji guide to see tha- oh. 

Oh. Hold on.

He gives the chart a closer look, glances up at Hordak again, then back at the chart. Yes, he confirms, the ears are pinned, but they’re also tilted down and back. Just a touch, angled in such a way that they… look far more like the emojis indicating nervousness, uncertainty, even _fear_ , rather than the ones depicting just plain old anger.

And… well, hasn’t Hordak been standing somewhat apart from the others, rather than looming and threatening, the way Bow might have expected him to? Hasn’t he been oddly reluctant to make eye contact? And while he’s kept his arms folded in what Bow had thought was gruff annoyance, at second glance, aren’t his hands perhaps gripping his elbows just a _little_ tighter than could be explained by a simple bad attitude?

Suddenly, Bow feels… not _at ease,_ really; not by a long shot, but his chest no longer feels quite as tight, and he finds some of his distress replaced with a sense of… something gentler. To his own surprise, he offers a small, tentative smile in Hordak’s direction.

Hordak… narrows his eyes in a deeper scowl, huffs quietly, and looks away. But, unless Bow’s eyes are deceiving him, the tilt of his ears lessens _just a tiny bit_.

And while Bow would have loved a warmer reaction, he nevertheless feels a little more tension leave him, and suddenly the night doesn’t seem so impossible to manage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	2. Individuality Begins in Clone Care

Please consider, a concept:

While many Etherians expect the Horde clones to jump at the chance to embrace individuality (perhaps accustomed to Wrong Hordak’s successful foray into self-actualization), they end up quite disappointed by what actually happens.

The overwhelming majority of Horde clones have no desire to take names, or to change their clothes, or to color their hair. They have no initial interest in becoming their own people. Rather, they are consumed by fear and pain and anger and a sense of terrible, all-consuming loss. They are hurt, and their hurt very much takes center-stage.

So the first whispers of individuality don’t come in the fun, whimsical form of new outfits or cute facial expressions; rather, they come in the form of Etherian caretakers learning how to best look after their new charges. How to heal their hurts and fulfill new, unfamiliar needs.

A young satyr learns that humming a quiet, gentle tune will help their assigned clone fall asleep on even the stormiest of nights, when cracking thunder would otherwise keep him awake and whimpering.

A married couple realize that running their clone’s hand through their dog’s fur helps him slow his breathing when the void left by the hivemind becomes too much to bear.

A beastwoman finds that, when her clone wakes up ill one morning, wincing miserably at a painful sore throat, he prefers slippery elm tea over chamomile to help soothe it.

An elderly grandmother discovers that her clone, weeping silently for reasons he himself cannot express, barely responds to being hugged, but does lean into her hand when she tentatively strokes his hair. 

A man notes that, whenever his clone suddenly pauses, paralyzed by some nameless fear, all he need do is take one clawed hand in his own and apply firm, even pressure to help bring him out of his trembling daze.

This is how the clones first become “people” to the Etherians: not through an exciting flurry of self-discovery, but through the personalized comforts they so desperately need. And it is with a sense of gentle pride and growing fondness that Etherian caretakers learn to provide those comforts, playing a vital role in the clones’ harrowing first weeks of their new lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	3. Hordak and Drafty Windows Don’t Mix ft. Secret Hero Catra

Please consider, a concept:

Hordak is woefully cold-intolerant, not only because his body fat percentage is in the single digits, but because certain aspects of his defect make him prone to losing heat quickly. His depigmented skin is particularly thin, and in areas where he’s lost significant muscle tissue, such as his arms, blood vessels run quite close to the surface under said thin skin. The result is rapid heat loss, unless he keeps such areas well-covered and insulated.

Once upon a time, in the Fright Zone, this was not a problem. His armor, both original and Entrapta-made, not only insulated him but provided an actual source of heat. And even when he took it off, the ambient temperature of his sanctum was quite comfortable, thanks to multiple machines warming the air as they ran.

Nowadays, at his new home in Dryl, it likewise remains largely a non-issue. He may not yet have a full set of armor (Entrapta is still working on the new prototype), but their joint-lab is likewise quite warm, and when he’s in other parts of the castle, he simply wears a comfy sweater, or one of Entrapa’s oversized hoodies. Maybe these articles of clothing make him look less-than-imposing, but he’s at home with no one but Entrapta to see him. He hardly minds.

Even outside of Dryl, it’s rarely a concern, as he has enough foresight to assess the weather appropriately and wear long sleeves and layers when he goes out. Not a huge problem, and if he ever does get chilly? Well, it’s often just him and Entrapta traveling together, and she’s not shy about wrapping him in her hair should he ever look the least bit shivery.

All that said, when it _does_ become a problem, it is, of course, at the least convenient time, because Hordak’s luck is just _that good_.

They’ve been called to a meeting in Bright Moon to discuss progress on some new irrigation tech in Plumeria. Seated around a large table in one of the many bright, airy rooms, everyone is listening to Entrapta explain the specifics of the planned system. She’s having a great time of it, going over the new bots she’s developing specifically for the task, and Hordak would be enjoying her animated presentation, except that he is _absolutely freezing_.

He hadn’t been before; he’d worn an appropriately long-sleeved dress, and it had served him perfectly well for most of their visit. Even when the weather grew a little breezy, the black fabric absorbed the heat of the day moon and kept him very comfortable despite the faint wind ruffling his hair.

Now, however, he has the misfortune of being seated in front of one of the large, shutterless windows so common in Bright Moon, and while the breeze still blows regularly through said window, the moon has hidden itself away behind thick clouds, robbing him of the heat that was making said breeze bearable.

The result is that, rather than devoting his attention to Entrapta as he would prefer, he has to focus on tensing his muscles to prevent himself from shivering. Which is painful, and unpleasant, and growing more and more difficult to do as the breeze steals more heat from him.

He wishes that he was in Dryl, so that he could grab a sweater, or hunker down in the lab, or seek out Entrapta and allow her to swaddle him in hair and provide welcome body heat, but sadly, he is in Bright Moon.

He is in Bright Moon, surrounded by people he is still wary of, and the idea of admitting to his growing discomfort, especially when everyone else is plainly comfortable despite this _damnably arctic wind_ , is absolutely out of the question.

Alas, his only acceptable option is to stubbornly fight the shivers with a rigid posture and conceal his faintly chattering teeth behind tightly-pressed lips. At least his stiffness is going entirely unnoticed; the other members of the group are very much focused on Entrapta, and if they do happen to glance his way, his posture can be interpreted as a manifestation of Standard Hordak Grumpiness. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing for any of them to be suspicious of.

All well and good, but he is _so cold_ , and for the first time in his life, he finds himself wishing that Entrapta would perhaps hurry to the end of her explanation. Which adds a sense of cringing shame to his misery, but he can’t help it: his talons are starting to go numb, and he aches both from cold and cramping muscles, and he’s uncertain how long he can endure before he’s unable to keep his breath from shuddering, and-

Huh. The breeze has stopped.

For a moment, Hordak can scarcely believe that nature has decided to have mercy on _him_ , of all people, but then he sees the lazy twitching of a long, brown tail in the periphery of his vision and realizes that Catra has seated herself in the window.

Caught up in the utter surprise of her sudden appearance, he can only stare at her until she scoffs and scowls at him.

“What? This is taking _forever_ , and I need some air.”

Normally, he’d not hesitate to point out that it was only “taking forever” because Entrapta was making sure to explain things very thoroughly for the less _technically minded_ in the audience.

Normally, he’d also demand why, exactly, she needed to obtain her air from the window directly behind him, rather than _literally anywhere else_.

Now, however, he simply responds with a narrow-eyed glare and an ill-tempered growl before turning away from her. Bizarre and rude though her intrusion might be, and probably something he _should_ be more suspicious of, he is too relieved to truly question it. And besides: as moments pass, she remains still, doing little else apart from lounging in the window.

He tentatively resolves to count it among his rare blessings, for he can already feel himself warming up, shivers dissipating and feeling tingling back into his talons. Within a few minutes, he is able to relax and, ears perking up with renewed interest, focus his attention where it belongs: on his enthusiastic lab partner.

All of this is very much fine by Catra, who settles down with a quiet sigh of relief. She isn’t sure what she would have said, had Hordak reacted more strongly to her presence. After all, she muses as the breeze blows gently against her fur, she’d rather jump from her window perch into the lake below than admit that her supposed need for air had really been the result of her sensitive ears picking up the hidden chattering of his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	4. Where Hordak’s Cowlicks Come From

Please consider, a concept:

It is just a touch after dawn. Unless significant scientific endeavors are afoot, Hordak rarely awakens this early, but today is different. Today, he rouses to a very odd, very strange sensation: a light tugging on his scalp.

For a few moments, he drowsily assumes that he is dreaming and nestles back down into his pillow, but the sensation persists. He can’t help focusing on it, especially once it is joined by the sound of… chewing? _What?_

Hordak’s eyes open fully.

Imp’s tail gently bats him across the face.

With a very undignified yelp, Hordak sits bolt-upright, swatting at his former-spy, who abandons his position at Hordak’s head with an indignant squawk, scampering away to hiss at him from the safety of a shelf.

Apparently, Imp finds being interrupted during his “happily chewing on Hordak’s hair” session to be abominably rude. His continued shrieking informs Hordak of this fact.

Hordak fails to react with appropriate chagrin, for he is far too occupied with looking both horrified and disgusted. And trying to smooth down the cowlicks of hair that Imp has left behind.

His valiant-yet-fruitless efforts are interrupted by a disappointed sigh, drawing from him yet another surprised yelp, for there’s Entrapta, perched at the foot of the bed, datapad in hand. Looking quite miffed as she fixes him with a frown.

“You made him stop!”

“I… I… what?”

“You moved, and you scared Imp away!”

He gapes at her for a moment, sleep-adled brain only just beginning to process her presence. Eventually he answers her frown with a scowl.

“Of course I did! He was-”

Hordak blinks, suddenly realizing something.

“…were you _watching_?”

Entrapta beams.

“Of course! And documenting!”

He selectively ignores that second bit.

“Why did you not stop him?!”

Entrapta looks at him as if he had just uttered the most ridiculous sentence imaginable.

“And miss the opportunity to observe such a rare behavior? What kind of scientist would that make me?”

She hops off the bed and makes her way to the door.

“Anyway, I just have to add this to the archive, then I’ll be in the lab! You should go back to sleep; you look a little frazzled! I’ll see you later!”

She’s already halfway down the hall by the time he’s gathered himself enough to inform her that he is not, in fact, “frazzled,” which is probably for the best, given that his wide eyes and absolutely absurd version of bedhead currently make this claim a lie.

Resolving to let the exchange go, Hordak begins to lay back down, for now that the excitement has passed, he must acknowledge that he is still, in fact, quite sleepy. However, in the process of pulling his blanket back over his ears, he freezes.

“…‘archive.’ What…?”

Still perched on the shelf, Imp giggles, making sure Hordak sees his positively evil little smirk before opening his mouth to provide Entrapta’s voice.

_“Hordak Cuteness Archive! Entry number five hundred and seventy-”_

Hordak sits up so fast, spots briefly dance in his vision. Above him, Imp has apparently learned to cackle.

“Wait! _Entrapta_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	5. Hordak Gains Confidence in Cuddling

Please consider, a concept:

Initially, when Hordak and Entrapta lay together, it is always Entrapta doing the holding. Hugging, cradling, cuddling: in all positions, she is the one wrapping her hair and limbs around his body and pulling him close. 

One reason behind this is that she is the more forward of the two, making her more likely to initiate and direct such intimate contact. Another is that, practically speaking, Hordak simply enjoys being held: he is cold-sensitive and often suffers various aches and pains owing to his defect; being held in Entrapta’s arms and swaddled in her hair brings physical relief to both of these problems, not to mention the emotional benefit provided. 

There is another reason, however, that is far less pleasant, one that causes Hordak to falter whenever he has even the vaguest impulse to offer Entrapta similar physical comfort.

Each time, he reflects on how lovely it feels to be cradled by her: his head laying against the soft warmth of her chest, her arms strong-yet-gentle around his shoulders, her hair a soothing blanket over his body, and he despairs because… well, how can he hope to offer anything of the sort?

 _His_ chest is wasted and bony, ribs painfully prominent under skin that is either thin and fragile or grotesquely rough with scars. _His_ arms, stripped bare of armor, are as wasted as his chest, and they’re all sharp angles and jutting elbows with little to recommend them in terms of strength or gentleness. And, of course, _he_ has no voluminous locks of silky hair, or any sort of equivalent, that he can use to keep her as safe and warm as she keeps him. 

Hordak is, as far as he is concerned, the vastly inferior choice, and so he suppresses any sort of urge to hold her, very much convinced that, try as he might, he would only reveal himself as being a shamefully inadequate and uncomfortable partner. Which is, of course, not at all what Entrapta deserves. And disappointing her is absolutely not something he wishes to experience.

Thus, this remains the state of things for quite some time until, one evening, Entrapta settles herself not beside him as usual but, to his mild shock, essentially on top of him. She curls up against his chest, nestling herself in the space between his body and his left arm. She answers his surprised grunt with a bleary yawn, lays her head on his sternum, and mumbles… something.

He remains still. Stunned. Uncertain. 

She mumbles again, this time sleepily wrapping a lock of hair around his wrist and guiding his arm to drape over her, his hand to rest on her head. Almost immediately, Hordak finds himself absentmindedly, instinctively, scratching at her scalp with his claws. 

The motion is gentle, rhythmic, and he glances down to see that Entrapta has stilled, a smile softening her face as she sighs in… contentment? Even though he’s cradling her with next to no muscle? Even when a patch of rough scarring brushes against her cheek?

He swallows, confused, but… encouraged? Is this what encouragement feels like? His ears twitch slightly at the thought.

He maintains his gentle grooming of her scalp, claws easily threading their way through her thick hair.

She sighs again, pressing closer against his chest, nestling right up against what he is certain must be uncomfortably prominent ribs, and… nothing. No grimace. No huff of displeasure. No noting of how unpleasant it is to lay, cheek-to-chest, against him. No-

“Mm… can hear your heart…”

She presses even closer. Her eyes are half-lidded, but she’s still smiling.

“Like gears…”

He finds himself smiling, too, though a part of him wonders if she can discern the nervous thud in what she’s hearing. He nods a little, his one hand still buried in her hair. His other has somehow found its way under her chin, curled comfortably against the warm curve of her neck. It’s held there by her own hands like the world’s strangest plush toy. One of her fingers strokes his longest talon.

His voice is low and rumbling, yet strangely steady as he answers.

“You are hearing the cybernetics that stabilize it.”

“S’fascinating… have to tell me ‘bout it…”

He begins to tell her that he will, tomorrow, but she’s already asleep, breath an even warmth against his skin. Her hands are still holding onto his one. His other has stopped its scratching and stroking, now seeking to pull the blanket up around the both of them before settling to cradle her curled up form.

And though he wants to savor this, wants to revel in the impossible sight and sound and sensation of Entrapta so willingly, so happily resting in his embrace, he cannot, for after a only few peaceful moments, he is asleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	6. Hordak is Allergic to Self Care ft. Not-So-Secret Hero Catra

Please consider, a concept:

A few months have passed since Prime’s demise. Reconstruction of Etheria’s damaged settlements is well underway, and all parties involved have gotten… if not entirely _comfortable_ with one another, then at least able to interact with civility. Enough so that, when Entrapta and Bow end up delayed on one of their interplanetary trips, Hordak is only moderately uneasy about heading off to Bright Moon on his own. Oh, of course he’d rather wait for Entrapta, but certain planned meetings (dictated by Etheria’s terribly inconvenient seasons) simply cannot be delayed. So off he goes, determined to maintain decorum and dignity and uphold his end of all relevant treaties. He is received by Glimmer, Adora, and Catra. The other Princesses are all otherwise engaged (with what, he cares little, though he is admittedly amused to learn that Mermista and Perfuma are occupied with an apparently _disastrous_ seaweed-related snafu). So it is the four of them against a whole mess of administrative work.

The girls, for their part, are equally uneasy but likewise determined to proceed as usual (Adora and Catra seeming _particularly_ determined). They meet Hordak’s reserved politeness with a tentative poise of their own, and the group’s work commences.

And for a number of days, it goes fairly well. Even Glimmer has to admit that, whatever anyone’s misgivings about how an Entrapta-less Hordak might behave, things are running smoothly. She maintains control of the meetings, guiding them through agenda after agenda, while Adora and Catra provide input based upon their recent scouting trips to Etheria’s various corners. Hordak rounds the discussions out with whatever technological information is relevant. Their sessions run long most nights ( _too_ long, if Catra were asked her opinion on the matter, which she pointedly is not), but they are productive. The four of them get an impressive amount of work done, and all without any tense moments or uncomfortable quarrels. One might even say that they are getting along quite well, all things considered.

In fact, Catra is _nearly_ certain that, when Adora mentions appreciating the work of some Dryl-made construction bots in a seaside village, Hordak subtly quirks his lips in what a careful observer could term a smile.

So the three girls are legitimately stunned when, about three-quarters of the way through their intended time together, Hordak’s behavior abruptly changes. His calm demeanor turns sullen and tense. Previously comprehensive explanations gain a taciturn edge, eventually devolving into clipped, half-snarled responses and sneered refusals to provide clarification. More and more often, words are accompanied by the baring of red teeth and the angry glare of red eyes. 

Glimmer is… less than pleased, but between her own determination to make this treaty work and Adora’s dogged, somewhat frantic optimism, she strives to maintain civility long enough to get through the last few days. But, well… limits are limits. And limits are surpassed when, one evening, Hordak furiously declares that he has lost patience with their “embarrassing incompetence” and, with nary another word, storms out of the conference room. 

“That’s _it!_ How _dare_ he?!”

Glimmer promptly explodes, and Catra spends the next few minutes watching Adora try to quiet what is proving to be a very loud, very angry, moderately uncouth Queenly rant. It is in the midst of this rant that Adora catches her eye and, with a quiet groan and a nod and a mental wish of good luck, Catra slips away with Melog silently following at her heels. 

“I _guess_ this is better than dealing with Sparkles,” she mutters to herself as she stands at the door to Hordak’s temporary quarters. Beside her, Melog trills encouragement, and she sighs. They’re right, of course: between the two of them, Adora has more experience dealing with an upset Glimmer. And Catra… okay, so she doesn’t have “experience dealing with an upset Hordak.” Not… not _good_ experience. But she worked with him for nearly a year. And, given what she’s seen, what she knows… she has a fair idea of what’s been happening. She’d been quietly hoping that it would work itself out, or that it wouldn’t become enough of a problem to cause trouble before they finished their work, but alas: it seems that that sort of luck just isn’t on their side.

Which, given the fact that Hordak seems to have the worst luck of anyone she knows, probably should have been something she’d seen coming.

Melog trills again, adding a gentle headbutt this time.

“Okay, okay… give me a second.”

She takes a breath, lifts a hand to knock, grimaces, and drops said hand. She clears her throat.

“Hordak?”

Nothing. She frowns and tries again.

“Hordak? Are you-”

“ _Leave._ ”

His snarl is all-too familiar, and even muffled through a door, it causes her hackles to rise, her ears to pin back, her tail to lash.

“Look, I just-”

“Go. _Away_.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fists, and turns away, ready to return downstairs with nothing to show for her efforts but a bad mood. Next to her, Melog meows in protest. She rounds on them.

“What? If he wants to be a jerk about it, then that’s _his_ problem! Besides, what am I supposed to do? Break down the door?”

And she resumes making her way back to the staircase, ignoring Melog’s continued protest (which, come to think of it, sounds fairly _alarmed_ , but… well, what _is_ she to do?) and… she freezes. The world around her is starting to shimmer. She _knows_ that shimmer: teleportation via alien cat.

“Wait! I said-!”

And just like that, they’re in his room, and though Catra’s first instinct is to make her displeasure very loudly known, said instinct quickly fades at the sight of Hordak.

“Oh, _damn it._ ”

From his place on the floor, crumpled in a sweating, trembling heap, Hordak looks up at the intrusion. His eyes widen, face twisting with fury as he prepares to shout what Catra predicts will be his trademark “get out,” only to choke up and curl in on himself as some sort of painful spasm races through him. 

Once upon a time, this sight might have spurred Catra into a bout of cruel gloating, but circumstances are vastly different today. 

Today, before either of them can really take stock of what is happening, she helps him up and half-leads, half-carries him to the corner sofa, depositing him with a strained grunt before taking a step back and giving him a moment to collect himself. Which he does while glaring at her.

For some time, the only sound between them is the ugly rasp of Hordak’s panting, then: “Get. Out.”

Ah. There it is. As expected. As anticipated. Catra’s ears flick at the command.

A part of her still bristles at his snarling, at his combative ire, at his accusatory glare… but a different part notices instead how that glare comes through dull eyes, how that snarling fades into exhausted panting, how he’s still trembling, even before his very unwanted audience. As the seconds pass, this part maintains its position at the forefront of her mind, until:

“You want some water?”

“…”

“…”

“… _what?_ ”

There’s a sudden lightness to her thoughts.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Just… stay there, okay?”

Melog punctuates her words with a happy chirp before providing the necessary teleport. A minute later, they’re back from the kitchens, glass of cool water in hand. Hordak remains where they left him, though he actually gives a bit of a start when they reappear. The momentary surprise disappears under a scowl as Catra holds the glass out to him.

He curls his lip. He doesn’t take it.

Catra remains steady. Next to her, Melog sits, tail waving a constant, slow path in the air.

Hordak bares his teeth.

“I do not require your _pity_ , Catra.”

“Good, ‘cause all I’ve got is this glass of water.”

He gapes at her.

“Which, y’know, you should take. Because my arm is getting tired.”

His expression closes off again in another scowl (he never did see the humor in her sass, did he?), but after a few more moments, Hordak relents. Slowly, clearly trying to keep his hand from trembling too much, he takes the offered glass.

Catra sighs and, suddenly drained, sits down on the ground a few feet away from him, resting her back against the arm of the sofa. Melog stretches out beside her, and Catra turns her back to Hordak to focus on providing the desired belly rub. She swivels an ear towards him, listening for him to finish draining the glass. He does so. 

She can hear that his breath has lost that ugly rasp, and a tightness in her chest that she hadn’t been aware of loosens.

“So,” she begins, trying to keep her tone casual, “do you… need to call Entrapta? Is it… is it your-”

“Entrapta is currently beyond the reach of our communication modules.” She’d steeled herself for another snarled response, but his voice is calm, almost quiet. “And no; it is not my armor.”

“…oh.”

A minute passes. Two. Catra starts to tentatively turn around, wishing to steal a glance, but Melog thrusts their head into her lap and refocuses her gaze downwards. Another minute passes, then:

“It… it has proven somewhat…” He starts, stops, starts again. Stops again. Something that is not pain chokes his words, and though she wants to somehow encourage him, a soft rumble from Melog compels her to wait.

“Even with the armor, there are times that I… have difficulties.” He is breathing quicker again, she can hear; not quite panting, but definitely breathing quicker. In her lap, Melog seems attentive but otherwise unconcerned.

“Particularly during periods of higher stress, or exertion. Though,” he suddenly hisses, and Catra hears claws scrape against fabric, “hardly anything about our current work should merit this… _exacerbation_.”

He falls quiet, and for what feels like a long while, neither of them say anything. Melog’s soft purring fills the silence.

“Sparkles is mad,” Catra finally says, “Adora’s calming her down.”

This time, when she tries to turn her gaze back to him, Melog remains quiet. She watches Hordak nod, sees his ears droop.

“My behavior has been… unacceptable. I shall go request an audience with Queen Glimmer and make an apology-”

“Uh-uh.”

He frowns at her. 

“Oh, I mean, yeah! Definitely apologize. You were a jerk. But not _now_ ; you should rest first. I’ll go tell them that you’re not feeling great, and-”

His scowl returns.

“That is not necessary.”

She matches his frown with her own and scoffs. “Uh, according to what just happened, it is. What? You’re just gonna… pretend you’re fine and keep going?”

He looks like he wishes to say something less-than-polite, scowl deepening, but instead he turns away with a quiet huff. His ears droop even further.

“The terms of the treaty are fair, and it is my duty to adhere to them. This… _lapse_ … aside, I am entirely capable of doing so.” He sighs and seems to will his ears into a more neutral position. “So yes: I shall ‘keep going.’” 

Catra blinks at him.

“That’s… really stupid.”

He blinks at her. 

“… _what?”_

She rolls her eyes. “It’s stupid. What’s the point of it… pushing yourself like that when you’ve obviously had enough? If you need a break, then-”

Suddenly he _snarls_ , he rounds on her, teeth and eyes glowing too-brightly, and she nearly jerks back. Melog tenses beside her but remains still.

“Then _what?!_ I should inform the Queen, and she will suspend proceedings and accept needless delays for my _comfort?_ That is… that is-”

He stops abruptly because she’s laughing, a dry sort of chuckle that might have infuriated him save for the fact that, when she notices his attention and stops, it’s to _smile_ at him. Catra smiles at him, and the expression holds an honest sincerity that he’s never seen her exhibit before. His indignation fades; his aggressive posture deflates.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what she’ll do.”

At first, he only stares at her, as if uncertain that he has heard what he believes he has heard, but eventually Hordak swallows, glances away, glances back, presses his lips together.

“That is… highly illogical, given the circumstances. I am not… I do not…” His voice fades, and his ears all but wilt.

For the second time that day, Catra does something without thinking, settling herself into the seat next to him and placing a hand over one of his. It’s tense and cold to the touch; her thumb begins to stroke his knuckles without her realizing it. Hordak remains silent, lips slightly parted, transfixed. He does not even react when, on his other side, Melog presses their body gently against his leg.

“It’s a treaty, Hordak,” she begins, and her voice nearly strains for a moment when her brain catches up with her actions, but she steels her resolve and continues, “not a sentence. Not a punishment. I thought it was, at first. I figured it _had_ to be, because of all we’ve done… all _I’ve_ done. But it’s _not_.”

Catra remembers how she first felt, all those months ago, and she makes the connection between her old fears and his current ones, unconsciously pausing to squeeze his hand; her ears have pinned back, and her chest is suddenly tight again.

“It’s not supposed to… to _hurt_. For either of us. Y’know? I mean… I was out with the flu for a week a couple of months ago, and the worst thing that happened was having to choke down Perfuma’s gross herbal junk.” She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “This…”

Now her voice does strain, and she has to stop for a moment before continuing. Beside her, Hordak is breathing quickly again and trying very hard to stop.

“This isn’t the Horde. _Either_ Horde. How we feel matters. How… how _you_ feel matters. So if you need a break, you get a break. …okay?”

It takes him some time to answer, and in that time Catra realizes what her hand has been doing; she snatches it back just as he finds his voice.

“If… if you believe that your suggestion is… appropriate, then I shall agree to it.”

Catra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The smile returns to her face, and she nods. Melog trills happily and rewards each of them with a gentle headbutt.

~

For what had seemed such a dramatic conversation, the aftermath is anything but. Catra and Melog return downstairs and tell Glimmer and Adora of what has transpired. Their reaction is as expected: the work is postponed, and Hordak is given leave to rest as long as is necessary, no questions asked. 

He spends the remainder of that day and the next in bed, rising in the late afternoon to deliver a very formal, semi-awkward apology to Glimmer. She responds with a very formal, semi-awkward acceptance. Their working session resumes, though Hordak finds that he needs to excuse himself again after only a couple of hours. That evening, Glimmer has a basket of strawberry tarts delivered to his room. She also makes a point of ensuring that their sessions no longer extend into the late night hours.

Catra remains nearby, much to Hordak’s (admittedly only half-sincere) chagrin, and between her stubbornness and Melog’s perception, he is kept well-supplied with snacks, water, extra blankets and, though both refuse to admit it, friendly company. Adora spends her time trying to contact Darla; when she succeeds, Hordak happily accepts Entrapta’s enthusiastic check-in (and assures her that, yes, he is being provided an adequate amount of soup). 

A few days later, he is able to rejoin the group in full capacity, and they finish their work with little harm done by their extended schedule. 

Then it is time for him to return to Dryl (Entrapta arrives the next day), but before he boards his transport, he takes a moment to do something he’d once never imagined he’d do: thank Catra. Awkwardly, as seems is his communicative style this trip, but sincerely. 

She grimaces slightly, refusing to meet his eyes, and scratches absently at the back of her head. Next to her, Melog utters a noise that sounds like a warbling coo, their mane glowing a faint pink.

“Yeah… well… better than you passing out and bringing the wrath of Entrapta down on us. Bright Moon’s still rebuilding, y’know.”

This elicits an actual laugh from Hordak, sudden and rather loud, and Catra fails to keep the surprise from her face as he regains control of himself and gives his final farewell with a small, genuine smile.

Despite Melog confirming for the world that she is blushing under her fur, Catra smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	7. Hordak Has Been Paying Attention In Therapy

Please consider, a concept:

Most nights, Hordak sleeps just fine. 

He is recovering rather well, all things considered, physically and otherwise. Between Entrapta's foundational support and the (surprising, but not unwelcome) help of numerous new friends, he is making appreciable strides in acclimating to his new, post-Prime life. And getting a healthy amount of restful sleep is part of that.

Comfortably nestled among blankets and pillows and Entrapta’s hair, he enjoys peaceful slumber the majority of his nights at the Crypto Castle. If he dreams, it is of negligible nonsense, and his sleep passes uninterrupted until morning brings a leisurely awakening, typically with Entrapta in his arms.

Some nights, though... some nights are unfortunately different. They’re usually the stormy ones, marked by black clouds and driving rain. On those nights, he dreams badly. 

On those nights, awful memories seem spurred on by flashing lightning and oppressive thunder, and Hordak tenses and shudders, whimpers and chokes as nightmarish images flood his mind. 

Images of acid green pools, of cruel green eyes, of green fangs flashing behind a sinister grin. A haughty, sneering god reveling in the desperate subservience of the acolyte trembling before him. Sensations of dread, of shame, of all-encompassing terror. Worst of all: a vision of a tearful, purple-haired woman, reaching out, crying, begging... screaming, convulsing, laying _so horrifically still-_

All of it culminates in him jolting awake, heart thudding painfully against the cybernetics trying to regulate it, breath coming in panicked gulps as he grips new holes into his blankets. He presses the heel of one trembling hand against his eyes, trying to rub the images away, to rub the beginnings of tears away, and...

Hordak takes a breath through his nose: sharp and short. He tries to hold it but cannot. Something clicks and whirs in his chest but fails to catch, and his heartbeat continues as a deafening thud in his ears. For a minute, he can only endure, shivering and panting, then:

He takes another breath, slower. As slow as he can, through his nose again. Like they’ve taught him. This time, he manages to hold it for a moment before exhaling through his mouth.

Again. Slower. 

Again. Even slower.

He remembers the lesson, remembers instructions given calmly and patiently during one of countless sessions, and he follows them.

In the corner of the room, he can hear the faint sound of machinery. Hordak flicks his ears towards it, focusing on the constant drone of Emily’s inner workings: the regular, unchanging hum of well-oiled parts. Every four seconds exactly, a small purple light on one of her panels blinks, and he focuses on that, too. His breathing begins to follow the same pattern, and he finds controlling it easier.

There is a solid weight against his right leg, a warmth pressed against his calf. Somewhere in that sensation is the feel of ten tiny claws pricking through his nightgown, and Hordak shifts his attention to the pressure of Imp’s tiny hands clinging to him. The little creature shifts in his sleep; the slight change in position sharpens Hordak’s focus, and his heart rate slowly begins to fall. 

Cybernetics whir again, click, and catch this time; the pain in Hordak’s chest fades.

"Hordak?”

His ears tilt to catch the sound of Entrapta’s sleep-muffled voice, and he looks down to see her blinking owlishly in the red glow of his gaze. 

“You okay?”

Her hair, silky and soft and gleaming purple even without the moons to highlight it, curls around his torso. Strands stroke his bare skin, and the friction brings warmth against a chill he hadn’t realized was there. He turns his attention to that warmth and lets it expand to focus on the steady, even pressure being applied to his shoulders and upper back, along the gentle curve of his spine. What little trembling is left in his hands stills. He no longer has to slow his breathing.

And he is able to give her a small smile.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	8. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Space

Please consider, a concept:

One of the many things that Hordak is ashamed of (and my word, are there _a lot_ of those) is the nature of his knowledgebase. Not its breadth or depth, mind you; that’s perfectly serviceable. Rather, it is the _purpose_ of his learning that alternatively disturbs and angers him, everything fine-tuned to serve Prime’s interest. It is a mixture of instinct and habit that remains months after the tyrant’s death: when prompted for this fact or that, asked about this concept or another, the first thoughts that come to mind are always in reference to Prime. 

It’s most noticeable when Entrapta asks him about his travels through space, about the planets he’s been to, for what else could a clone know, _should_ a clone know, about other worlds except their value to Prime?

She eagerly asks what this world was like, what he saw on that one, and all he can think of is a list of resources gained, of species conquered, of supply lines and battle statistics. It sours his mood, this Prime-centered tendency, and where her enthusiastic curiosity normally delights him, any mention of space travel and planetary exploration turns him sullen and taciturn. So much so that, to his further shame, she eventually stops asking and focuses instead on other matters during their time together. It is a change that Hordak desperately wishes to undo but cannot fathom how. After all, even if he swallows his discomfort and indulges her curiosity, what could he possibly tell her? What information could he offer, save what he’d been programmed for: dull statistics and logistical facts useful only in running a tyrant’s empire. Hardly the sort of thing she’d want to hear.

And hardly the sort of thing he wants to revisit.

It’s only when, for the first time since Prime’s demise, they finally leave the planet that this changes.

“Isn’t it _beautiful?”_

He follows her gaze to the swirl of dust and debris filling the space beyond Darla’s windows. It is vast and colorful and constantly, subtly shifting in the aethereal wind. A nebula.

“Oh, what do you think it’s _made_ of?”

There is something about her eyes, something in them that shimmers and sparks and hints at only the purest joy. He can see the nebula’s colors reflected in them.

“Hydrogen. Helium. Various other ionized gases. Cosmic dust.”

For the first time, the memory of Prime’s ships mining these materials does not follow. The fact that nebulae were little more than fuel depots does not come to mind. Instead:

“They often contain regions that facilitate the formation of new stars.”

She squeals, darting back and forth on tendrils of frizzing hair, and he cannot help but smile. Just a little. 

_“We have to collect samples!”_

If any of Prime’s programming is attempting to reassert itself, to insert its utilitarian notions into his thoughts, Hordak cannot sense it. The warmth blooming in his chest is too great.

“But of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	9. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Science

Please consider, a concept:

All her life, Entrapta has tried her damnedest to connect with others, and she has done so via science and tech and engineering. They are the languages she speaks most fluently, the disciplines she is most comfortable with.

And hey, sometimes, it seems to work! Sort of. Maybe. She thinks.

She makes her weapons, offers them to allies, and receives social acceptance in return. She helps out with tech troubles, and she secures her place as part of the group. Scientific information needed? There she is, ready to offer all relevant facts and figures for the chance to forge that all-important bond!

And if things don't feel quite right, if she doesn't get that sense of connection, well... she's never been very good at applying science in this particular manner. She's never had that skill. Perhaps she just needs to try harder. Perhaps she needs to revise her materials and methods. Perhaps she needs to collect more data.

After all, one can always use more data!

So she does.

Entrapta meets Hordak. She works with Hordak. She gains that all-important data.

Data gained by tweaking his armor so that his heart beats steadier, watching the tension bleed from his face as her modifications ease his pain.

Data gained by realizing that she's been talking about the physics of portal stabilization for two hours, and he hasn't interrupted her even once.

Data gained by watching a smile soften his features when she shows him her plans to further upgrade Darla.

It's these data points (and _so many more_ ) that she considers one evening, curled up in bed, Hordak's breath warming the nape of her neck as he drowses beside her. Entrapta considers and assesses and interprets, and finally decides upon a logical conclusion.

It seems that her science has always been sound; she'd just been applying it to the wrong people.

Ah, well. Unfortunate, that: a miscalculation.

She reaches out and strokes Hordak's hair with a strand of her own.

No matter. With adequate, data-driven guidance, any error can be rectified! And, as Hordak nuzzles against her in his sleep, Entrapta finds that she looks forward to doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	10. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Going Out

Please consider, a concept:

“I believe... I believe I prefer it without.”

Eventually, she’d come to identify this (and document it!) as one of the first tentative steps Hordak would take in his healing process, as a sign that he is gaining some small affinity for his natural appearance.

At the moment, however, Entrapta is too focused on said appearance to fully appreciate this significance.

"Okay, then; try it without!”

Hordak frowns but obliges, slipping the short black cape off of his shoulders and somewhat squaring them as he turns back to face her. She grins.

“I like it!"

His lips thin, and he grunts.

“You do not find it too...” 

Hordak trails off, seeming to want to reach up to touch the newly-bared skin but refraining at the last moment. Entrapta waits for him to finish and tilts her head to the side when he doesn’t.

“Too what?”

He clenches his jaw, sighs, and unclenches it. He turns his eyes away, fixing them on some point on the far wall; their glow seems to fade just a touch. Now he does reach up to touch one bare, bony shoulder, his fingertips lightly grazing what Entrapta knows to be the roughness of his scars.

“You do not find it too... unbecoming?”

Slowly, gently, strands of hair thread themselves between his fingers, guiding them away from worrying the scarred skin underneath and giving them a reassuring squeeze. He shifts his gaze back to her, finding her beaming at him with utmost sincerity.

“I think you’re _gorgeous_ in this dress!”

Hordak’s lips part, but no words come out. A rush of heat to his face tells him that he’s gone red from nasal bridge to ear tips.

Entrapta’s expression never changes.

“I...”

His words struggle back to him.

“I... see. Then... I suppose this will do.”

“Great! Then let’s go!”

They arrive at the banquet about half an hour later. 

Upon said arrival, Hordak stiffens but once: when Scorpia rushes over, eyes and full attention plainly on him. For a brief moment, there is the urge to reach up again, to hide and to cover. For a brief moment, he internally cringes and regrets. 

After an enthusiastic greeting, Scorpia cheerfully asks where he got his dress.

“D’you think I could get one that works with my carapace?”

The brief moment ends.

“I am sure that it can be arranged.”

He does not reach up to touch the scars again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	11. Entrapdak Positivity Month: Disability

Please consider, a concept:

It does not happen nearly as often anymore, but there remains the occasional episode that is unavoidable. 

There are simply too many variables, too many factors affecting his health, to make it possible to eradicate _all_ episodes of syncope. In times of stress, in moments when some glitch or another affects his armor, on days when another illness or injury exacerbates what is already there: Hordak remains prone to collapse.

And he _despises_ it, of course. There is nothing pleasant about the vertigo, the palpitations, the tunneling vision, the sense of losing any and all control before the world fades to darkness. There is nothing amusing about forfeiting minutes to unconsciousness, hours to recovery, potentially days to full return-to-function.

That said... it is _different_ now.

He remembers, often with a pang of melancholy, what the episodes had been like before.

He remembers the disorientation, the wildly grasping panic of waking up absolutely unaware of his surroundings. He remembers the confusion. He remembers the physical discomfort, the pain.

Sometimes waking after hitting his head in the fall, resulting in a nauseating headache that might linger and impede his work for days. Other times waking chilled to the bone, forced to wrap up in his cape and do little more than shiver miserably, hoping to warm up enough to attend an impending meeting without trembling. Still others waking to find that he'd badly twisted something, or lain on a limb strangely, and could barely rise even once his faculties returned to him.

So many wretched discomforts, all made worse by a fog of fear and dread... but not anymore.

As said: it is _different_ , now.

Now, when he wakes, it is to none of the old discomforts.

He never wakes hurting from the fall, for at the first sign of fainting, gentle ropes of hair immediately catch him and guide him safely to the ground. He never wakes cold, for that same hair wraps around him, or pulls a blanket over him, to keep him warm. And he never wakes panicked, for the moment his eyes flutter open, her cheerful voice is there to greet and comfort and soothe him.

It is different now, because while Hordak still _hates_ his syncopal episodes, he no longer _fears_ them.

Not with Entrapta nearby to help him endure them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	12. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Internalized Ableism

Please consider, a concept:

Entrapta asks Hordak:

“Why didn’t you stop?”

There is nothing accusatory in the question, nothing that suggests anything but an honest concern and a desire to know: _why hadn’t he stopped_?

Why had he kept working, kept hauling debris alongside his brothers, when he knew his exoskeleton was glitching? When he could feel the pain shooting up his arms? When he could feel them beginning to tremble? 

Why had he ignored the warning signs: the irregular hammering of his heart, the building vertigo, the bright spots dancing at the edge of his vision?

_Why hadn’t he stopped?_ Why hadn’t he sat down, caught his breath, waited for his heartbeat to settle?

Why had he kept going, pushed and pushed until he awoke to a cold compress over his eyes and a worried Entrapta hovering nearby?

Thinking back, he remembers how his brothers had toiled away effortlessly. How their strides never broke. How their muscles flexed full and able under their sleeves. How they barely broke a sweat, even after hours of labor. 

He remembers focusing on his brothers again and again rather than heeding his body’s cries for rest.

And he remembers the tight, twisting feeling in his stomach at the sight.

_Why hadn’t he stopped?_

The same reason he turns away from Entrapta now, swatting at the strand of hair attempting to stroke his clammy forehead, growling at her to “leave me be.” The same reason that twisting feeling makes him curl in on himself when she does as he asks, leaving him alone in the darkened bedroom.

_Shame._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	13. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Attraction

Please consider, a concept:

Entrapta cannot remember ever truly enjoying the form of someone non-mechanical. Not really.

Oh, she might appreciate the knowledge that some organic being is considered attractive by the pervading social standard, but she never really _feels_ it herself. Not in the way she feels enraptured by a machine's fascinating function and intricate design.

And yet... _Hordak is beautiful_.

Not just due to his cybernetics, either.

Mind, there _is_ beauty in those, of course: Entrapta regularly finds herself enraptured by the sight of wires and cables shifting underneath his skin, by the sound of mechanisms regulating every heartbeat and breath. The way machine and flesh work together, aided by her own modifications... it is _exquisite_.

But for the first time, it isn't _everything_. For the first time, she sees beauty where there is no machinery to provide it.

She sees it in the flexing of his fingers, huge and taloned, yet so precise when he works on technical tasks; a sight that makes her want to stroke the creased skin of his knuckles.

She sees it in the crimson glow of his eyes, in how the intensity of that glow makes it so easy for her tell when he is looking at her, yet somehow keeps her from feeling too uncomfortable to look back.

She sees it in his eyelashes, striking when enhanced with mascara yet absolutely dear without, long and soft and pale against her lips when she presses them to the backs of his eyelids.

She sees it in the delicate tips of his ears, in the unique patterns of his scars, in the straight lines of the facial grooves crossing his cheeks. In the way his lips quirk into a satisfied smile when he's solved a problem and thinks no one is looking. In the definition of the spine of his lower back when he curls up against her in his sleep.

In... in _all_ of him: every last part of his body and mind and heart.

Entrapta doesn't tell him this, of course. Not in such words. She hasn't the skill, hasn't the knack for expressing her feelings in that way.

But she hopes he knows. When she makes daily adjustments to his armor; when she seeks his company for experiments she could easily perform alone; when she strokes his ears as he falls asleep...

Entrapta hopes Hordak knows that he is the most beautiful person she has ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	14. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Kiss

Please consider, a concept:

Hordak wants to kiss her.

He realizes this one afternoon, upon seeing Catra and Adora engage in the act while departing a Bright Moon luncheon. After recovering from the embarrassment (Catra very pointedly asks him what he's looking at), he recognizes the feeling of longing when he marries what he's seen with the thought of Entrapta, and well...

_He wants to kiss her_.

But _when_? And... and _how_?

He's never done such a thing, never even _considered_ it beyond vaguely acknowledging that it was a thing that people-who-were-not-him did.

_How does he start?_

It seems so _easy_ , when others do it. When Catra and Adora did it. A smooth, spontaneous, intimate show of affection. A natural thing; absolutely natural for them.

...could it be natural for him? He can't see how.

Not when he hasn't the faintest idea of how to... _anything_.

How does he position his body? His arms? His hands? Does he lean down to her? Does he wait for her to lift up on her hair? How does he approach? How does he tilt his face; which way, and how far? What about her face? Does he keep his eyes open, or close them? Does he move his lips? Does he purse them? Does he meet hers with his, or does he start somewhere else? Her cheek, maybe? No? Yes? Perhaps? With what pressure? For how long? Does he have to hold his breath? Does his tongue-

Hordak stops, takes a deep breath. Another. And again. His heart has started to pound, and he feels a little lightheaded. 

With a rush of determination, he pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind.

He manages to quell them until the following night, when he and Entrapta are curled up in bed, her head nestled against his collarbone. She’s already fallen asleep. Hordak drowses, but when he feels the sensation of her breath warming his bare skin, the desire returns, rousing him from his near-slumber. He looks down at her, still asleep, cradled both by him and by a cocoon of her own hair, and it strengthens: a longing that manifests as a quickened heartrate and a lump in his throat. He swallows against it, shifts slightly, gently curls his arm a little tighter around her shoulders.

_..._

He lowers his head just a little.

_Perhaps..._

He lowers it a touch more. 

_Perhaps if he just..._

A flyaway strand of her hair tickles his cheek.

_If he just..._

She always smells of machine oil, even if it’s faint underneath the shampoo she uses. The scent slows his heart, even as his throat tightens a touch.

_Just..._

Hordak closes his eyes without consciously meaning to, just as his lips touch the top of her head, right where her hair parts. A little pressure, a little time, enough so that his lips feel warm where they meet her skin, and he lifts his head again. Opens his eyes. Lets out a breath he only now realizes he’s been holding.

His heart speeds up again, but the lump in his throat is gone.

_Was that...? Had he...? Would she...?_

The warmth spreads from his lips out along his cheeks, into the hollows under his eyes.

_Should... should he have...?_

So caught up is he in what he’s done that he doesn’t notice Entrapta stir, doesn’t notice her eyes open, doesn’t notice _anything_ until he feels her hair cup his cheek. His breath catches. He nearly starts to stammer, haphazardly thinking to provide an explanation, but before he can do so she, in one smooth motion, pulls herself up and presses her lips to the angle of his jaw.

His eyes widen. The fading heat in his face flares and spreads to his ears, and any words he might have spoken fade into stunned silence.

Entrapta maintains the contact. Hordak’s skin tingles beneath the gentle pressure of her lips. The sensation makes him shiver just a little.

After what seems like an age, she pulls away. Her eyes, half-lidded with sleep, meet his, and she’s smiling as she settles back down against his chest.

“Goodnight, Hordak.”

His skin is still tingling. His ears and cheeks are still hot. His heart flutters, and he’s lightheaded again.

It’s _wonderful._

He shifts, rearranges himself, drapes his arm back around her shoulders. Once he’s able, he smiles, too, even though she’s already nearly asleep again and cannot see it.

“Goodnight... Entrapta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	15. Entrapdak Positivity Month Prompt: Home

Please consider, a concept:

“Time to go home!” she chirps, pulling him along as they exit Bright Moon’s conference hall, another meeting behind them. 

“Time to go home!”

Not so long ago, home was a labyrinth of endless, sterile halls and silent, staring brothers. It was the perpetual hum of blunted emotion and overwhelming intent and rigid directives conveyed across the hivemind.

It was rations of viscous green fluid: thick and tasteless, meant to supply everything he needed for optimum functioning yet always leaving him unsatisfied and craving, wrought with seemingly perpetual hunger pangs. Asking for more was a blasphemous waste of resources.

It was forever searching for a suitable pod to recharge in while sadly knowing that each was the same: hard and cold and lacking in even the most basic comforts ~~that he shouldn’t need~~. He would wake exhausted and aching hours later, trying to rub the chill from his bones so that his shivers would cease by the time he reported for worship.

It was watching his brothers perform their tasks smoothly and effortlessly, serving Brother with an honor and ease he could only dream of. All while he struggled against the shooting pains in his arms and the tightness in his chest and the irregular thud-thud-thudding of his heart. 

It was the shame of Brother’s disappointment, of his acidic _revulsion_ when faced with his little brother’s vulgar deficiencies. It was the mortification of being sent away from His sight, the tearful agony of feeling Brother’s presence grow fainter and fainter as he approached the front lines. His only hope for repentance had been to cleanse himself of his failure via an honorable death.

It was knowing that he would never be enough; that he would never be perfect.

That he would never be worthy of Brother’s love.

“Time to go home!”

Today, home is a labyrinth of clever traps (he knows them all) and curious bots (he knows _them_ all, too, by name), full of confused-but-learning brothers that have begun to clumsily greet him when they cross paths.

It is a kitchen that is always open to him should he feel even the least bit peckish, stocked with foods specifically prepared to cater both to his tastes and to his health. Cook is still a little afraid of him, but not so much that it prevents her from adding another helping to his plate at suppertime, or making sure those fruit tarts he so enjoys are always available to nibble on.

It is a bed piled high with pillows that cushion his joints and blankets that keep the night chill out, all soft and gentle against even his most sensitive skin. And should they not be enough, he knows that he will wake in a cocoon of lavender hair, snugly wrapped to ensure that his sleep is warm and safe and sweetly restful.

It is reveling in the strength his armor gives him, in easily keeping up with and at times even outpacing his brothers in the rebuilding efforts. It is knowing that she made it for him without demanding anything in return, made it for the sole purpose of restoring his function and easing his pain. The idea of it still brings an indescribable warmth to his chest.

It is watching the Etherians grow less wary of him, their scorn slowly fading to careful curiosity and, as he commits to restoring what he once destroyed, gradually transitioning to quiet respect. It is learning to have _real_ hope, for there is no repentance-through-death here. Rather, there is a community that offers care and nurturing and welcome to any who decide to join it, no matter their past transgressions.

It is Entrapta telling him that his imperfections are beautiful; it is him finally accepting that she is right. 

It is receiving her love and giving his own in return.

“Time to go home!”

Hordak smiles.

“Let us go, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


	16. One of She-Ra's Sacred Duties is Blanket Delivery

Please Consider, a Concept:

She’s been relaxing all evening, basking in the heady mix of relief and jubilation common to them all in the wake of Prime’s defeat, but that does not mean that Adora’s powers of observation have waned. Though, she supposes, it would not take a particularly impressive level of observation to notice that Hordak and Entrapta are not among the celebrating crowd. Or, oddly enough, among the somber clones being gently shepherded to their first night’s rest outside of recharging pods.

So, while everyone else busies themselves with pitching tents and securing sleeping arrangements, Adora searches.

It doesn’t take her long to find them. They’re only a short way off, settled under a heavily blooming tree. Hordak is asleep, curled up at Entrapta’s side and half-covered by a blanket of lavender hair.

Once upon a time, this is a sight that she would have had difficulty imagining, but after all she’s seen today (though her eyes _and_ She-Ra’s), her only reaction is a small smile.

Entrapta meets her smile with a cheerful grin-and-wave of her own, though Adora does not miss the very subtle, very slight (yet very present) frizzing of the hair draped over Hordak. Or the way it curls and twists, numerous locks arranging themselves to settle between her and the pair.

“Hi Adora! Did you need something?”

Entrapta’s voice is as cheerful as her smile, though quieter than Adora is used to hearing it. Beside her, Hordak tenses a touch, seeming to shudder, before curling tighter against her. He does not wake. A strand of hair moves to rub his upper arm, though Entrapta’s eyes remain on Adora.

“No. No, I was just… I wanted to check on you guys. See how you were doing.”

“Oh, we’re fine! Hordak’s a bit tired; getting possessed by the soul of a mind-controlling entity is pretty taxing, you know?”

Adora swallows, smile fading. The memory of that vicious darkness, of its enraged screams at being vanquished, of the exhausted mind left in its wake, makes her throat tighten. She nods stiffly.

“Yeah. I know.”

“So he’s just taking a little nap.”

“That’s… good.”

It occurs to her now, as she’s having this unexpected conversation, that Entrapta’s face is pinched and drawn. There are dark circles evident under her eyes. Her hair isn’t as glossy as it normally is and, following its initial burst of activity upon Adora’s approach, lies limp and lifeless.

Hordak, curled up and pressed into her side, looks strangely small in his plain clone garb. His face is the same stark-white it’s always been, but his cheeks are noticeably pale, a lighter grey than the slate-blue Adora is used to seeing. Every so often, his shoulders tremble; a lock of hair snakes up to stroke his upper arm, as before, until they still.

As she takes in all of these details, Adora becomes aware of sounds of celebration coming from the camp behind them. Laughter and cheering. The crackling of a bonfire. Music, too; someone seems to have procured a flute and has begun to play a jaunty tune.

Something in Adora’s chest tightens, and she sets her jaw.

“Do _you_ need anything?”

The words come out somewhat strained, but Entrapta doesn’t seem to notice. She glances about and hums for a moment.

“A blanket or two would be nice!”

“Sure.”

Entrapta waves her off as Adora makes her way back to camp.

“Bye!”

When she returns a few minutes later, two thick blankets folded over her arms, Entrapta greets her not with a smile but with an expression of plain confusion.

“Oh.”

Adora crouches down, beginning to unfold the blankets. She holds one out.

Entrapta blinks at it.

“You… you brought them.”

Adora offers that small smile again.

“Yeah. Here.”

A lock of hair flips her visor down, and Entrapta remains still for a few breaths before silently taking one blanket in both hands. She studies it from behind the insectoid eyes of the mask.

Suddenly, in one fluid motion, she drapes it over Hordak’s form, hair rustling to life and busying itself with the task of tucking the folds tightly around him. He does not stir as she works, though his body seems to relax from its tight curl. His shoulders cease their intermittent trembling.

Adora releases a breath she only now realizes she’s been holding.

Once Hordak is properly covered, Entrapta grabs the second blanket and wraps it around herself, pulling it securely over her shoulders. It is only when the both of them are settled - she returns, for a moment, to adjust Hordak’s blanket so that it’s pulled up to his chin - that she turns back to Adora. After another brief pause, she lifts her visor.

Entrapta’s eyes are a little red, a little watery, but she’s smiling again.

“Thank you.”

Adora returns her smile in kind.

“You’re welcome.”

She leaves them for the night, turning back once to see Entrapta nestling her head into the curve of Hordak’s neck. Now he does stir, sleepily draping a blanketed arm over her. Then they are still.

Adora continues her way back to the camp, to songs and happy chatter. To crowds of friends and allies. To Catra.

Tomorrow, she’ll return. Perhaps with some tiny food, or a fizzy drink. Perhaps with some amniotic fluid, if she can find a vial.

Perhaps just to ask:

_Do you need anything?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is at cruelfeline.tumblr.com should anyone want nature photos and/or a truly absurd amount of Hordak content.


End file.
